you look for a legend
by margtyrell
Summary: Instead, she stood, and went to find him some dry clothes. - rebekah/vaughn; rebekah doesn't run, she escapes.
1. Chapter 1

**S: **Instead, she stood, and went to find him some dry clothes. - rebekah/vaughn; rebekah doesn't run, she escapes.

**S:** Rebekah Mikaelson/Galen Vaughn

**WC:** 2209

_dig up her bones,_

_but leave her soul alone_

_boy with a broken heart,_

_heart with a gaping hole_

For awhile, she doesn't hear from anyone.

It isn't like she was expecting to. Rebekah doesn't expect anything from anyone anymore. Excluding herself. She's learned, slowly in her thousand years, to only rely on Rebekah Mikaelson and Rebekah Mikaelson only. It doesn't matter if you share blood, or memories, or even love, the only person who will be there for you in the end is yourself.

So she leaves.

Silas is known to be running around the island or wherever he is, she didn't quite understand what that ruddy professor had been saying when he was dirtying her boots. He was a liar anyways and Rebekah didn't have much of a tolerance for liars.

Rebekah decides not to return to Mystic Falls. She knows her brother will be out of his temporary prison and he'll be looking for her, as he does. He'll call her, first thing in the morning, asking his darling little sister why she hasn't found her way home yet.

But she won't answer, because the phone that has the number that he knows, was smashed and thrown off the cliff of the island before she vacated it. She didn't need a phone to wherever she was going.

The cure was gone, her brothers were dead, and Rebekah was still lonely. She had no friends in Mystic Falls. If Stefan had started his way to forgiving her, it was ruined when she snapped his neck. He had to have seen it coming. She had told him, as he told her: the curse was priority. There were no feelings, no attachments. For once, Rebekah obeyed that rule.

She still lost the cure, all the same.

It was ridiculous, to even fantasize the possibility of becoming human. Of having blood run through her veins again, to place to her hand over her chest and feel her heart beating. Rebekah had dreamed of becoming human, just as anytime she managed to find sleep in her vampire state. It was why, in her early years of being turned, the blonde decided not to sleep anymore.

She gave that rule up three weeks later, when Nik lost his temper and Elijah and Kol were nowhere to be found, and Rebekah assumed dreaming about being human was much better than laying in her bed crying, wailing for her mother.

Both options were pathetic. She chose the one with less tears. Could you blame a girl for that?

She goes to Chicago first, just to check in. Maybe Katerina Petrova would go there, too. Maybe she'd hand the cure over to Rebekah simply because for once, she had a change of heart, a chance to do somewhat good. But Katerina wasn't there and Rebekah let herself be disappointed at false fantasies.

She gets drunk and drains three humans, two males and one female. Her vision was too hazy and her mind dulled, but she had an itch that someone was trailing her. It wasn't Nik, as he would've already snatched her back to the family prison, so she let it slide and returned back to her world of bloodlust and alcohol.

The next day Rebekah leaves Chicago, eyes trailing behind her. She watches across the roads, the crowds around her, the voices surrounding the area. None were familiar so she hopped in a plane and went to England.

She fit in best with the British, she thinks.

Rebekah knows her brother has noticed her absence by now, but in a different country, she thinks she'll be okay for a little while. She's not expert on running, but she's good on escaping. The original deserved a vacation, if nothing else.

The people are nice and they don't ask questions. If they do, Rebekah compels them away. It's peaceful and easy and Rebekah finds herself in a routine by the first week. She finds a cozy apartment, shares it with a roommate who has learned to be quiet anytime Rebekah is at home. She spends time in the library and becomes fond of coffee shops, although she drinks tea more than coffee.

On the fourth day of the second week, the blonde feels as though she's being followed. It's the same creepy feeling edging up her back that she felt in Chicago, that she felt on the island. She retraces her steps and listens, listens, _listens_ but somehow, for the first time, being an original vampire fails her.

She pouts the entire time to herself, but the next day, she's in Scotland.

It's green. It's lush and it smells wonderful and there aren't too many people. Aside from food, Rebekah's had enough with people. She finds a small cabin out in the country, the farmer being kind enough to let her stay without compulsion. He attempts to take her clothes off the next night, for 'payment,' so instead Rebekah rips all of his off and locks him in a closet, a knife stabbed in his.. ah, private area.

After that, it's silence. Brilliant, wonderful silence. She reads and listens to music and cooks blueberry muffins that taste horrible. She doesn't know why she starts baking awful muffins in the first place, but the farmer's dog seems to be fond of them. Rebekah's probably spoiled him rotten.

With a fire roaring and a book in her lap, Rebekah thinks of the fifth night of the fourth week that she has finally found peace. Then the door knocks and Rebekah wonders how the universe has managed to fuck with her this time.

She expects Nik or Elijah or maybe even one of the Salvatores. Maybe they need her to rescue Elena somehow. Because obviously, this earth is not complete without her alive. The world will not move without Elena Gilbert. Jeremy may have been her last family member, but lord, does Rebekah hope his death _broke_ Elena into nothing.

It doesn't seem that she will find out, however, because as she needs to learn, Rebekah shouldn't expect things. Usually she's wrong.

As the rain poured over him, the hunter from the island stood in front of her door, his eyes halfway closed, the water on his eyelashes weighing them down. Rebekah can still pick out the blue.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asks, as though it is the basic and proper thing to ask.

For Rebekah Mikaelson, it is.

He shakes his head, barely. "No, lass." It is only a gruff, but it is honest, and Rebekah thanks whoever she should thank for her ability to see through bullshit. She lets the pet name slide.

She opens the door wider and moves out of the way to let him in. Over the threshold, the scent of blood fills her nostrils and she has half a mind to pounce on him now. The Hunter's Curse would only give her more time away and no one could hold her responsible for that.

Instead, she says, "You're hurt."

He nods and lowers himself into the seat she had previously been sitting in. His hand is hovering over his stomach, red seeping through the lines of his fingers. Rebekah's eyes center on it, her eyes dancing between confusion and hunger. He doesn't mention either, although by the furrow of his eyebrows, he could do without that kind of hunger.

As she shuts the door, Rebekah wonders, for a moment, what he could be doing here. It clicks, then, like it should. She was blonde, but she was smart. "You've been trailing me." She doesn't ask, she states a fact. He nods. He seems to be found of nodding.

The blonde crosses her arms, remaining in her spot from across the room. He sighs, frustration trailing through his breathe. Anybody could pick up on his agitation. She feels that it would be rude to laugh at him now.

"I- damn it," he shifts his position, like it would help the pain. "I have and I apologize for that... although, not really." Even cringing in pain, the smirk appears on his face and his eyes shine again with that blue, that pretty pretty blue.

She narrows her eyes at him.

"Normally, I wouldn't.. wouldn't dare, wouldn't bother, wouldn't think of it, but I need.. I need your help." Every word in his sentence seems to upset him, in reluctance of admitting that a poor Hunter of The Five would need a vampire's help, much less an original's. It doesn't occur how he would need her help until staring at him for a moment or two, her glare moving from his face to his gash.

"You need my blood," Rebekah assumed.

The hunter shuts his eyes in confirmation. "I can feel myself dying. I made a mistake, your brother... I made a remark or two about you-"

"What brother?" she interrupts, finally taking a few steps closer to him. When had he come in contact with her bother? If he'd been following her, had Elijah or Nik been as well?

He waves his hand in exasperation, half at being interrupted and half at the gushing wound in his stomach. "The one with the hair, he was in England. Look, we can talk about your family difficulties after you do me this favor and heal me-"

"And why on earth should I do that?" she challenges, raising her eyebrows. "If you had a chance, if you had the _ability_, to kill me, you would. Not a blink of the eye."

"And you?" he asks, looking up at her, "you'd do the same. You're no better than me, I'm not better than you. The only difference is that you could kill me. Aside from the fact that I'm already dying."

His accent is making her knees a little weak. Even if her accent made men fall at her feet, she couldn't help but be a sucker for them too.

(she tended to be a sucker for hunters, too)

She moves closer and falls gently to her knees, her hands moving over his to lift them from the wound. He lets out a hiss, only resisting with little force. He grips the chair's armrests, his knuckles turning white.

Rebekah comes close to draining him. But she doesn't.

She considers not healing him, letting him slowly fade into death. A new hunter would be born and he would be free of his life of killing vampire, pretending that he doesn't enjoy it. But she counters it with not knowing why he was following her in the first place, questioning him on how the hell he made it from England to Scotland with this injury, and not knowing why Elijah was following her.

After all, he's the only one who could be describe as 'the one with the hair.'

It's stupid. For a thousand year old, it's stupid. But Rebekah Mikaelson has always been weakly lonely and the farmer's dog wasn't cutting in for company.

Red veins appear under her eyes, alerting the hunter that he would going to get to live another day. He opens his mouth, his mind reeling at mentally preparing himself, of that fact that he was going to drink a vampire's blood, that he was lowering himself to everything he hated.

Rebekah goes to bite her wrist but before she does, she peers up, her eyes still scarlet red. "What your name?" she questions, her voice high and innocent and human. If he wasn't seeing the monster on her face right then, the hunter could've sworn that she wasn't a damned, soulless creature. But he knew better.

"Vaughn," he coughed out, "Galen Vaughn."

The vampire nods and in a second, her fangs tear into her own skin. Her blood pours out, the contents mixed between stolen life source and her own old self. Her skin finds the wetness of his mouth and then he drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

Vaughn's eyelids fall and his knuckles return to normal skin color. Rebekah watches with eager eyes, the fascination playing out loudly in her expression. Humans, hunters or not, had a taste for vampire blood, as much as vampires had a taste for theirs. They just didn't need it to live.

He drank until Rebekah felt his skin healing, until the blood dried on her fingertips and there was no open wound. He drank until he felt up to perfect shape and then some. He drank because he didn't know what the hell else to do.

He let go with a gasp, blood dripping down the corner of his mouth. Rebekah smiled, picking up the blood with her finger and bringing it to her own mouth, sucking on it. Vaughn watched with hazy eyes and let out a chuckle. Vampire or not, the blonde she devil was certainly attractive.

"Get some sleep," she told him, making no move to remove her hand from his stomach, oddly enough. "I promise not to snap your neck. You're not good enough to be a vampire."

Vaughn's smirk returned, his head lulling onto his shoulder. "Assuring, lass," he muttered, falling asleep as soon as the word finished leaving his mouth.

Rebekah looked at his sleeping form. She didn't quite understand what had just happened. She shouldn't have healed him. She should've killed him when he appeared on her (_the farmer's_) doorstep.

Instead, she stood, and went to find him some dry clothes.

* * *

i don't know what this is. i wrote them while lurking through the raughn tag on tumblr. i don't think i even ship them.

but this is after the island, before the last episode where we saw elena's breakdown. or maybe during it. i don't care. it's probably a little ooc for both, but rebekah needs a vacay. it would work if she wasn't stuck with eternal loneliness. also there's probably a backstory behind why vaughn was following her and how he got the injury from elijah, but that's a story for another day. one shot? i dunno. review, maybe?


	2. Chapter 2

**WC: **2273

_these are hard times_

_these are hard times_

_for dreamers_

_and love lost believers_

She waits. He sleeps.

Rebekah almost leaves him. Three times. What the hell did he think he was doing when he decided to find her? To follow her? She didn't care who he was, what his name was, or how delicious his scruff looked. He was creepy. He probably had some motive. After all, he was a man.

Men suck, Rebekah learns.

The blonde paces an awful lot. The farmer's dog watches her with every step, whining when she stops to let out a breath and run a hand through her mess of a hair. The original was not fond of waiting. She did not possess this thing called 'patience'. She had plenty of time to kill as he slept and nothing to murder it with.

Rebekah didn't dare sleep. As soon as she closed her eyes, she'd wake up to him, leaning over her, a white oak stake in his hand getting ready to thrust into her heart. Maybe that was her nightmare. It was getting difficult to tell what was reality and what was just some twisted, tortured fantasy. She did not want to kiss death quite yet.

Even if she had decided to take a nap or two, it wouldn't have mattered. The Hunter slept like a baby. Literally, like a baby, for almost eighteen hours. He grumbled in his sleep once or twice and rolled over on the couch - where Rebekah had moved him to - only two or three times. That much blood loss apparently knocked you out for a good while, no matter how much you replaced with fantastic blonde original vampire blood.

When she's opted out of leaving, she goes to the idea of snapping his neck. Rebekah has to admit, viewing him as a vampire would be quite the show. It would liven the dullness of this empty house in Scotland. She even ad a terrified, blood ready farmer in the closet. If he was still alive, she hadn't through to check in a few days.

She doesn't kill him. He would hate that.

Rebekah's beginning a batch of muffins when he finally does wake. She had gotten bored of pacing, and sitting, and playing with the dog that refuses to learn how to fetch. Naturally, she returns to her awful baking skills. She has to improve eventually, right?

Vaughn awakes with a gasp, his hand throwing itself onto his stomach. He sits up and blinks in confusion, the earlier day's memories returning back to his mind. He thinks intently, his thoughts basically appearing blatantly on his face, until he glances in her direction and his straight, emotionless expression returns.

She gives him a bright smile.

"Muffin?" she asks, although she'll still mixing the batter and they're not nearly close to being finished. He tilts his head at her, in blunt confusion, before slowly shaking his head, his mind crawling back to his worries.

Rebekah thinks she should kick him out. With her foot. Or with a knife.

She doesn't, of course. She's predictable like that.

"Are you going to leave soon?" she continues with another question, seeing as he isn't going out of his way to speak. "I think you should. You've over stayed your welcome. I stole this house, fair and square, and I don't need hunters in it, walking around like they own the place. Neither do I, for that matter, but-"

"Do you always ramble when you're nervous?" his voice causes her shoulders to jump in shock. She breathes through her nose, calmly, cursing herself for actually _jumping_ in surprise. His voice hadn't seriously shocked her, had it? It was the most ridiculous notion she had thought all day and that counts killing the dog to spray his blood all over Vaughn in order to wake him.

…she didn't _do_ it, you know.

Rebekah sets the batter down on the counter, moving to the doorway between the kitchen and living room. She sets her hands on her hips and looks at him, for a long moment, before answering. "I'm not nervous."

He raises his eyebrows at her. He doesn't look like he believes her. Vaughn stretches his arms above his head, cracking his knuckles as he brings them back down. "Then what's your excuse for talking so much, love?" He stands, moving his legs from the stiff laying position they had been in. Rebekah does not watch. She does not.

(she does a little)

"You," she snaps curtly, huffing, "the fact that you're here, in this house, with my blood in you, in my excuse."

"So you are nervous?" he repeats, the corners of his lips rising.

Rebekah rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. "Not nervous, _annoyed._" She feels that it's her duty to at least correct him.

Vaughn only chuckles. His body, now fully stressed and back to tip top stamina, lingers awkwardly in front of the couch. The hunter hadn't thought this already through when he stumbled his way to the doorstep.

(he refused to call it her doorstep because it wasn't, she had stolen it and that didn't quite make it hers, vampires were such disgusting creatures)

He thinks of his injury. He should be dead. If he dared to call himself a true Hunter after this, he was kidding himself. He chose life over his moral codes. He chose a vampire over dying peacefully human. He had given up that right, even if he planned still sticking a stake in every vampire he met. He was a simple hunter now, that was all.

He wished he could kill the one standing in front of him, her lips stuck in a pout, her eyebrows furrowed downwards. Vaughn wished even more she had a beating heart. He really, really did.

"I apologize for annoying you then, sweetheart," he steps closer to her, peeking around her shoulder into the kitchen. "Are you actually baking muffins? Do you even eat? _Can_ you eat?"

The blonde huffs, cocking her hip to the side. He was _such_ an imbecile. "Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?"

He shrugs. Gives no other answer. Rebekah loses her patience.

She slams him against the nearest wall, her hand on his throat. By instinct, his hand grips her wrists and fights to pull it off, succeeding, although whether it was thanks to his supernatural strengths or her blood in him he doesn't know. She counters it by slamming her elbow this time into his throat, pinning him against the wall and halting his breath. He tries to remove her again, but vampire blood, Hunter of the Five, or simply being a man be damned, Rebekah is still stronger than him.

"If you were annoying me before," she hissed, her eyes slowly darkening by her temper, rather than hunger, "you're pissing me off now. I want you to do two things for me, Galen, are you listening, _darling_?" She gives him enough room to nod and then resumes the weight against his air tunnel.

"First, I want you to tell me everything. Why you were following me, how you were able to trail me, and how you got your injury from my brother. Understood?" Rebekah doesn't give him time to answer. She's been known to like the sound of her own voice over others. "Second, as soon as you give me all this information like a good little Hunter, you're going to leave and forget you ever found this place. Otherwise I'm going to kill you right now and turn you into a _wonderful_, human-hungry vampire. How's that sound?"

She stares deep into his eyes as she slowly feels her fangs retract, her veins vanishing. Rebekah then drops her elbow, sending him into a coughing fit. She glances down at his hunched figure, judging him harshly with her glare. Vaughn doesn't see it, but he could swear he felt fire on the back of his head.

Vaughn still looks slightly amused as he moves his body upwards, but the elbow imprint reminds him to keep his mouth closed unless it's what she requested. He has never wanted to kill a vampire more and he has never wanted to fuck a woman harder than at that moment. He pretends he never thought that, for his own mental state.

A few moments lapse into silence, as Rebekah calms herself down and Vaughn catches his breath.

"I thought you would go back to Mystic Falls," his voice enters the room again, his body slouched against the wall he had been held against. Rebekah had turned away from him, but at his words, her head slowly turns in his direction. "After I managed to get out of the cave you left me in, you were just leaving the island. I thought you were heading back to the rest of your bunch, but-"

"They're not '_my'_ anything," she interrupts, a pretty scowl on her face.

He sighs. "I don't care," he empathizes, his accent thick. "Instead you went to Chicago. You did nothing and I... I got curious. Silas was on the loose and I should've been, should be, looking for him. However, you were an original and I had yet to come in contact with one of you. You seemed harmless."

That causes her to smirk, eying the slowly forming bruise she had left. He narrows his eyes in response. She winks. Their silent conversation ends.

"And then all the way to England?" she prompts.

Vaughn nods. "You did more of nothing. The day I was going to leave was the day I ran into your brother. I don't know what he was doing there," he admits, catching the slight fall of disappointment in her features. "But he knew what I was doing and who I was. He jammed a stake of my own into my stomach and left me bleeding on the street. My body healed me with what it could, but not enough..." he caught her stare with his and gestured with his hands, "and that's how I found myself here. I wouldn't have found you, had the flight attendant not been so fond on blondes. He remembered you in a second, and how round your-"

She interrupts him again, "Got it." Rebekah puts it on her bucket list to go back to England and kill the flight attendant. Criticizing the man in front of her, she wonders if he's telling the truth. His heart was steady. He wasn't nervous. She believed him and hated him for it.

"Fine," Rebekah finally answers. She takes a few steps towards the door, brushing her hair back with her hands as she walks. "I believe you. I'm not going to kill you. You can leave."

He crosses the room and as tall as he his, towering over her, his legs reach the door before she does. He places his hand on the wood to prevent her from opening it. He wonders if he's going to become acquainted with her other elbow. "I can't, actually."

"Why the bloody not?"

"Your brother is still looking for you. He'd been tailing you for almost the whole time I was. If I found you as easily as I did, there's no telling how long he's already been here or how soon he's going to be here. He finds me alive and all your blood is wasted. I don't think he'd leave me alive for a second time."

He almost seems to be pleading with her. It makes her want to laugh and so she does. What did he want? Her blood _and _her protection?

"Aren't you supposed to be fearless, Hunter?" she asks, moving closer to him, her voice soft and haughty. Her eyes, big and blue, almost makes him again doubt her immortality. "Afraid of no vampire, no matter how old, how strong? Your ancestors would be disappointed in you."

He breathes in, controlling his anger and possibly his control of lust. He was losing it and himself. "Self preservation first, love. I like my life. I like to live my life."

The moment gets to her. To both of them. Rebekah's been through it before and the feeling of the frozen time catches her, traps her. Her body and mind takes over. She knows better. She's been broken before. She's learned.

Yet, she leans forward, cocking her eyebrow. "And how do you like to live your life, Hunter?"

Maybe Rebekah hopes by calling him Hunter, she'd remember who he was. She'd remember he wants to kill her, remember he's only another come to use her, remember he's a moron. But damned if she doesn't love making the same mistake.

"Alive," he answers, honestly, but this is familiar. He catches it. He doesn't recoil and he isn't repulsed. He doesn't even think to think that he should be. "But with danger."

Rebekah is danger. Vaughn knows. He kisses her.

He pushes her against the wall, his hand roughly cupping the back of her neck, rubbing at the skin. She tangles hers in his hair, pulling and tugging. Their lips mesh and clash together, their tongue dancing in instant synchrony. It's passionate and quick and so, so, _so_ typical of Rebekah it pains her.

She throws him off her. Vaughn hits the opposite wall, his pupils dark and his chest heaving. Rebekah holds her fingers over her lips and she lets out a sound, a groan almost, but with more anger in it. She's silent, words swimming in her stare, suffocating both of them until Rebekah is gone and the door is open and rain is pouring and Vaughn is alone.

The dog whines. The Hunter tells him to shove off.

* * *

i don't know if this is any good? but if it is, then i really like writing these two. it's probably too early for them to ~kiss, but rebekah's weak and vaughn's a guy so. besides, what fics do you know that actually have build up and character development anymore? psh. i'm just trying to get back into my writing style. none of this is edited btw so love me for as i am xoxo.

but anyways, you're all precious for reviewing. a few were interested so i wrote another chapter. [shrugs] same deal.


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